om, which opened
into their principal's, were extremely shocked at this familiarity, and
gave utterance to a murmur of disapprobation. The Buddha himself,
however, who passed over the circumstance with a half-angry smile, rang a
silver bell, and desired a young Lama, who obeyed the summons, to bring
us some tea with milk. "I have often seen your countrymen," said he; "my
Lamasery stands at no great distance from your native land; the _Oros_
(Russians) often pass the frontier, but I have never known any of them
before to advance so far as you." "We are not Russians," said we; "our
country is a long way from Russia." This answer seemed to surprise the
Buddha; he looked at us closely for some time, and then said, "From what
country come you, then?" "We are from the Western Heaven." "Oh! you are
Peling, {285} of _Dchou-Ganga_ (Eastern Ganges), and your city is Galgata
(Calcutta)." The notions of the Living Buddha, it is observable, though
not exactly correct, were not altogether destitute of meaning; he could
of course only class us among the peoples who were known to him, and in
supposing us first Russians and then English, he manifested an
acquaintance with geographical terms, by no means contemptible under the
circumstances. He would not be persuaded, however, that we were not
either Oros or Peling of Galgata. "But after all," said he, "what
matters it from what country we come, since we are all brothers? Only
let me advise you, while you are in China, to be cautious not to tell
everybody who you are. The Chinese are a suspicious and ill-conditioned
race, and they might do you a mischief." He then talked to us about
Thibet, and the dreadful road thither that we should have to traverse.
Judging from our appearance, he said, he doubted very much whether we
were strong enough for the undertaking. The words and the manner of the
Grand Lama were perfectly affable and kind, but there was a look in his
eyes to which we could not reconcile ourselves. We seemed to read there
something infernal, fiend-like. But for this circumstance, which perhaps
after all was mere fancy on our part, we should have esteemed our Grand
Lama friend a most amiable personage.

From Tchoang-Long, or Ping-Fang, we proceeded to Ho-Kiao-Y, or, as it is
named on the maps, Tai-Toung-Fou. The latter is the ancient denomination
of the place, and is no longer in popular use. The road was, throughout,
covered with oxen, asses, and small carts, a